Michael Doolan knew that he’d taken a false turn in inviting those comancheros to help him wreak his vengeance, but there was little enough to be done about that now. The important thing was to protect his daughters from harm. When he and Ezra went back into the house, he said to his son, “Take Katy and Maire into town. Don’t argue ’bout it now. I want them away from here.”
“Those fellows’ll hear. I shouldn’t wonder if they’re not watching just such a move,” said Ezra, “I saw their faces. They got it in mind to take advantage of the girls. Maybe they’re a goin’ to kill us as well, but they surely want the girls.”
“Got a better scheme in mind?” asked his father, in a tone of voice that suggested that he didn’t believe so for a moment.
“Pa, if I hadn’t’ve opened fire the other night, happen ma would still be with us. I don’t think any o’ the Armstrongs would’ve shot us. Things got out o’ hand. It was my fault.”
“I thought on this,” said Doolan shortly, “There may be somewhat in it.”
“Let me run over to the Armstrong place and ask ’em for help? They help us get rid of those villains in the barn, maybe the score’ll be even.”
It wasn’t a brilliant idea, but from where Michael Doolan was standing, there didn’t look to be a better one on offer. He’d been a damned fool to hire those bandits and if it came to shooting, then he and his sons would like as not be outgunned. Besides which, there was his daughters to think of. He said, “Well, if you’re going, then go. Don’t stand here gossiping like a woman. Don’t saddle up. Go on foot. Those rogues’ll hear any hoof-beats leaving here.”
So it was that about an hour and a half later Anthony Armstrong, who had armed himself to the teeth with a view to avenging his brother Jack’s killing and the mutilation of his body, saw a figure silhouetted on the ridge above his family’s house. He was standing talking to Andrew, discussing his plans, when he chanced to look up and see somebody on foot, making his way towards them.
Now although he couldn’t imagine any of the Doolans, no matter how grave the supposed provocation, doing something as beastly as slicing off a man’s head, it was to the Doolans that Anthony had been intending to go first in order to begin his investigations. Since the figure which came briefly into sight as it crested the ridge was evidently coming from that direction, it struck both Anthony and Andrew as being a smart move to lay in wait and ambush whoever was coming their way. With a few muttered words between them, they slipped behind the low stone wall which separated the house from the yard. So it was that when Ezra Doolan was within twenty yards of the Armstrong place, two shadowy figures reared up out of the darkness and he heard the sharp, metallic click of weapons being cocked.
“I mean you all no harm,” said Ezra, “I’m coming peacable, like.”
“Then just keep your hands still and don’t go making any sudden movements,” said Anthony, “Just so as we understand each other.”
“Anthony, I got no cause for a quarrel with you.”
“What about me, Ezra?” enquired Andy, “You after me?”
“I ain’t after anybody. You’re in danger and so are we. I come to ask your aid, but it’s in your own interests.”
“How’s that?” asked Anthony, “You know aught about my brother Jack?”
Ezra was glad that the darkness shielded him from plain view, for at the mention of Jack, he found himself blushing with guilt. He said, “You boys going to hold me at gunpoint, or can we go in the house to talk? Maybe we don’t have a heap o’ time to spare.”
“Come on into the house, then,” said Anthony, “But keep your voice hushed. My Pa’s ailing and like to die.”
“I’m real sorry to hear it,” replied Ezra, “Afore this trouble, I always got on right well with your father. He’s a good man.”
Once they were seated at the kitchen table, Ezra set out enough of the facts to indicate the danger that the Armstrongs were in. He described the nature of the comancheros and his belief that they would stop at nothing. Andrew was very far from pleased to hear about this and said angrily, “Your father hired these men to kill us and now you’re here beggin’ our aid to send them away again? That makes strange listenin‘! You got a rare nerve coming to us now. So it was them as killed our Jack, that right?”
”You want straight talkin’,” said Ezra Doolan, “Then your precious brother killed my Ma. You know that’s true. We both lost somebody. You help us get those men away and we’ll call a halt to this madness.”
There was dead silence for a while after Ezra delivered himself of this proposal. Both Anthony and his brother could see that unless they went along with this, then the most likely consequence would be some sort of range war which would most likely not end until nearly all of them were dead. Such things had been known before. Once killing for killing began, things soon spiralled out of control. Then again, if what Ezra said was true, then they had four ruthless killers to contend with and their mother there in the house with their father dying. Neither of them wanted their father’s death to be marked with gunplay around the place.
At length, Anthony said, “Your father agrees to this? That my brother evens out your ma’s death, God rest her?”
“He’s been plum distracted with the loss of our Ma. When he comes to himself he will. He knows all this hiring of those man-killers has been a piece of foolishness.”
Turning to his brother, Anthony said, “What d’you say? You want to go with this?”
“We don’t have another choice,” said Andrew grimly, “We carry on down this road, we’re all goin’ to wind up dead and those killers picking over our corpses into the bargain.”
Before setting off, they hunted out Tom, who was in their parents’ room, watching over them. It was agreed that one at least of them had best stay to guard the old folks and Tom said that he would undertake that task.
“Well I come on foot and I reckon we should get back as speedy as can be.”
Pascal and his compadres were no strangers to strong liquor. Some men grow more mellow and thoughtful after a drink or two; others become boisterous and excited. There are those though, who merely become meaner and more dangerous when in their cups. This was the case with the four comancheros in the Doolans’ barn. They fully intended to do as they had agreed and kill all the Armstrongs the next day, but tonight they had something else on their minds. That something was the two Doolan girls; Katy and Maire.
Pascal had seen the girls soon after arriving, when they were hanging out washing. Now, he could not rid his mind of them. It was like that sometimes, especially when he hadn’t had a woman for a while. The other three had also caught the scent of young prey and were eager to join their boss in the hunt. In the normal way of things, these men took great care to avoid anything which might look like rape when they were in a town. There was no crime regarded with more loathing and detestation by the average citizen and taking a girl by force was the quickest way of guaranteeing that a posse would be raised in next to no time. But in an out-of-the-way spot like this, the case was altered. They might be able to kill the man who had hired them, rob him as well as their intended victims and then have the girls as well.
After sending his daughters upstairs, with strict instructions to lock themselves in their room and pull the furniture against the door, Michael Doolan checked that both the front and back doors to the house were locked. There was no telling what time Joseph would return from town, nor yet what sort of a response Ezra would meet with from the Armstrongs. There was nothing else to do but wait. Doolan turned down the lamps, so that he had just enough light so that he wouldn’t stumble over in the darkness, but not enough to provide a good view of him from outside the house. He’d no real reason to think that the men he had enaged were going to mount an assault on his home, but there was that funny little tingling at the back of his neck, which told him that danger was near.
“What say you?” asked Pascal of his three companions, ”You want those Yankee girls?”
“How so?”
“Why, we kill the old man and his son, then take them. Good pickings in the house too, perhaps.”
Slowly, grins appeared on the faces of Pascal’s men. Without saying a word more, they all four got to their feet and picked up their rifles.
The first that the Doolan girls knew of anything untoward was the sound of splintering glass; followed by a fusilade of shots. Then there was dead silence. They went over to the door that they had barricaded as best they were able and strained to see if anything could be heard. There was nothing. Both had hoped to hear their father’s rough voice, assuring them that everything was all right.
Over in the bunkhouse in which three men who worked for the Doolans were staying, the sound of shooting was faintly heard. The bunkhouse was the best part of a mile from the big house; Michael Doolan valued his privacy. That being the case, it was not immediately apparent to the men lounging around in the hut and playing poker for matches, just exactly from which direction the shots had been fired. Since there was no more gunfire, they all three of them decided that it was none of their affair and continued with their game.
Neither Anthony nor Andrew felt all that much inclined to chat with Ezra as they rode over to his house. The events of the last few days were still too raw for that. Not only that, they both entertertained the suspicion at the back of their minds that perhaps they were being led into a trap. For that reason, without making too much fuss about it, they both contrived to see that Ezra rode so close to them that any man hoping to take a shot in their direction would not be sure of hitting them rather than Ezra Doolan. If Ezra knew that they did not altogether trust him, he gave no outward sign of it.
When the handle of their bedroom door turned, both Katy and Maire gave muffled gasps. Summoning up all her courage, Katy called out in a quavering and unsteady voice, “Who’s there? Is that you, Pa?”
There was a low chuckle and then a man’s voice said, “Your pa ain’t able to speak just now. You two had best open this door, before we break it down.”
A smoother, almost silky voice said, “Come now, young ladies. My friends and I are likely to grow angry if you keep this up. You wouldn’t like us when we get angry, of that I do assure you.”
The two girls stared at each other in dumb terror. Then there was a tremendous crash, as somebody kicked the door. This initial bang was followed by a series of crashes, which sounded as though a chair or something was being swung at the door; which was in fact just what was happening in the passage outside the bedroom.
Two or three minutes after the three men had set off for the Doolans’ house, there came the sound of gunfire; right ahead of them in the direction they were travelling. They had already been moving at a brisk canter, but when he heard the shots, Ezra Doolan spurred his mount on into a gallop. In keeping with their unspoken agreement to stick close by him; the other two men followed suit and so the three of them raced onwards.
The door to the Doolan sisters’ bedroom was a stout one and the lock not likely to give in a hurry. The bureau and wash-stand that Katy and Maire had managed to manouvre against it provided another layer of safety. Batter away at the two inch thick oak as they might, the door remained closed against them. Being positioned as it was in a naroow passageway meant that none of the four men could charge at it and hope that their weight would burst it open. It was awkward enough trying to kick against it in the enclosed space. Pascal had tried swinging a wooden jardiniere against the door, but that had splintered, with no discernible effect upon the door. The comancheros were becoming frustrated and angry; knowing what tempting morsels were waiting just a few feet away. It was while they were standing baffled, that the sound of a bunch of horses heading their way came to them. With the owner of the house laying dead downstairs, they decided that they had best see who was arriving in such haste.
As Ezra Doolan and the two Armstrongs rode up, they saw that only one room in the house was ablaze with light. “That’s my sisters’ room,” said Ezra, “Lord knows why the rest of the place is so dark. And there’s a window broke, there at the the front.
“Something’s amiss, that’s for sure!” said Anthony. He scanned the darkened windows of the Doolans’ house, searching for any sign of movement. He still didn’t entirely trust the man to whose aid he and his brother were riding. It was true that him and Ezra had been good friends once, but much had changed since those days. He’d no idea of what the man was like now, nor of what game he might be playing.
They were no kind of cowards, but with a bunch of unknown riders approaching from the front of the house, the best place to be, from the point of view of Pascal and his friends, was at the back. They knew each other so well, that only a whispered word or two was sufficient to set them to their allotted positions. By the time they had slipped down the stairs and moved into the kitchen, the sound of hoof-beats had altogether ceased and there was dead quiet outside. Whoever was out there was seemingly watching and waiting. Friendly visitors would surely have called a cheery greeting by now or perhaps knocked on the door. The silence boded ill and when once they had unlocked the back door in the kitchen, the men split up, with two each going round either side of the house to spy out what was happening and who was there. They were keenly aware that the shooting earlier might have caused men to come running to aid the old man.
Anthony had slipped from his horse and made his way to the front door. By the time he reached it, his pistol was in his hand; cocked, ready and raised. The door was locked and it struck him that with the lamps dimmed in that way, somebody might be laying wait inside the house, keeping the light low so as not to spoil their night-vision. That being so, he decided to move round to the side, where there were fewer windows. He was aware of Ezra Doolan and his brother Andrew dismounting and readying themselves for action.
Unless Ezra was more devious and crooked than any man Anthony had ever met in his life, then he was as puzzled as the Armstrong brothers as to what the play might be. There was still no sign of life in the house. Taking a chance, Anthony leaned through the shattered window and saw at once Michael Doolan laying dead; a pool of blood surrounding his shattered head. From the look of him, he had stopped several bullets in his head and also at least one clean through the middle of his chest. Whoever killed the old man had been well-versed in both marksmanship and ruthlessness. He withdrew his head and then began moving, silently as a cat, to the side of the house.
It was the fact that he had his own weapon already levelled which saved Anthony Armstrong’s life. He reached the corner of the house at just precisely the same moment that two of Pascal’s men arrived from the other direction. They had their pistols in their hands but their hands were hanging loose at their sides. It was a lapse of attention of which those men would not normally be guilty. It was only that they were now in civilised country that made them a little more relaxed and less apprehensive than was the case when they were on the scout around the wild country near Palo Duro.
Anthony Armstrong sized up the situation in a fraction of a second and even as the two men were raising their pistols, he fired first at one and then the other. His first two bullets, carelessly aimed for speed, took them both in their chests, but rather than take any chances, he followed these up with more careful shots; one in the head for each man.
Ezra Doolan had his own pistol out and Andrew had pulled his rifle from the scabbard at front of his saddle. He was just bringing it up to cover any target which might present itself, when the slightest flicker of movement to the left of the house caught his eye. He shouted a warning to his brother, who was now moving along the front of the house again, heading for the other side; just in case there were other men to tackle. At the back of his mind, Anthony was worried that the two men he had killed had been part of a flanking manouvre and that another enemy might be coming from behind him. When Andrew called out, Anthony dropped at once to the ground. This saved his life, because the man known as Pascal had been drawing down on him and fired just as Anthony went down. Pascal had no opportunity to take more time over a second shot, because Andrew fired at him. Andy Armstrong was no more than a fair to middling shot and the ball passed over Pascal’s head and shattered a window. The comanchero’s response was swift and deadly. He fired back at once, hitting Andrew in the fleshy part of his upper arm.
Ezra was a little slow in catching up with the action, but when he did, he tipped tha balance against the men who who had, unknown yet to him, killed his father. While Pascal was exchanging shots with Andrew Armstrong, Ezra took careful aim and killed Pascal’s companion. Pascal himself returned fire, hitting the horse that Ezra had been riding. Then Anthony settled the matter by firing twice at the leader of the comancheros. His first bullet took Pascal in the chest; his second was as neat a head-shot as one could ever hope to see, taking Pascal smack-bang between the eyes. He stood there for a second, before crashing to the ground like a felled oak.
The silence which followed the brief gunfight was broken by Katy Doolan throwing up the window and crying down to her brother, “You settled ’em Ezra?”
“Yeah, I reckon. You and Maire all right?”
“We are. But I’m affeared for Pa…”
Anthony had by this time got to his feet and before checking that all the men they had been up against were really dead, went over to see how Ezra and Andrew had fared. He was alarmed to see the blood-soaked sleeve of his brother’s shirt. “How bad is it?” he said in a low and and concerned voice.
“Well,” said Andrew, “I’m bleeding like a stuck hog, but it’s only in the muscle, leastways so I think. I had worse last fall when I fell out the barn and a nail tore me. I’ll live.”
“These the fellows your pa hired?” asked Anthony.
Ezra walked over to the corpses and turned their faces to him with the tip of his boot. He said, “Yes, there’re the bastards.”
Feeling that there was no point in dressing it up with fancy words, Anthony said, “Well then, they’ve done for your father too. He’s laying dead under that window, there on the right.”
“Ah shit, no!” exclaimed Ezra, his face suddenly twisting with grief, “That’s the hell of a thing. Don’t tell the girls, Anthony. I reckon that’s my job.”